In Time
by lrigD
Summary: Jacob Broadsky claims his next victim. This is the aftermath. Now complete! Based on the already infamous promo for 6x22, so don't read if you haven't seen it, and instead go watch it right now!
1. Chapter 1

**_Whew, that promo - man, that promo. I had to watch it twice before I even believed it._**

**_WHY will this episode air right before my final exams, and the next episode right in the middle of them, when I really can't use a distraction (which it will no doubt be)?_**

**_Life is unfair._**

**_In the meantime, though, I hope you enjoy this little piece :) Not particularly eloquent or special, but this is what I like to call cathartic writing. :)_**

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><p><strong><strong>He's not even surprised when he hears the knock on the door – two times short, one time long, one time short – her signature.

Of course she'd be here.

It's not arrogance that makes him state that – it's rather that he _knows_ her. He knows that despite her attitude and the rotating interns, she still cared for him. He knows that, despite being annoyed by his relentless trivial facts, she still appreciated his work. And he knows that his death hurts her, reminds her of Zack, maybe, and makes her wonder how she can let people close when she failed to protect even him.

In part, it's what he's feeling, too. And even though he's tired beyond his years tonight, he's glad that they can share.

He opens the door and she stands in front of it. Her eyes are red, but dry, and there's something in them he can't quite determine, something desperate and dull and painful.

She's still holding in.

"Come in." He steps aside for her and she enters his apartment. As she takes off her coat, he sees she hasn't changed since from her work clothes; he can still see the splash of blood on her shirt, a splash of blood that reached as she stood, frozen, a few yards away from where Vincent Nigel-Murray was shot.

He gives her a beer without asking her and she accepts without thanking him, and somewhere with the chaos of the day they'd just had he finds some reassurance in that. They're still there.

He doesn't quite know how to start the conversation, so instead he says nothing, maybe uncharacteristically so. They just sit and sip their beer and stare at the wall ahead, at the black TV-screen, and (in his case, at least) at the photo of him and his partner that's in the book case right next to it.

"Booth?" her voice is small in the silence and he wants to look at her so desperately, but he tells himself it's not a good idea and continues to stare at the photograph.

"Is it…" she hesitates and as he recognizes that, so unlike his Bones, he does turn and look at her. She's pulled her legs up to her chest and sits hugging her knees, looking years younger than he'd ever seen her. And scared.

"He was just gone," she whispers. She doesn't need to say much more; he knows exactly what she means. He wasn't there when it happened, but he'd seen the team afterwards, shocked and afraid, angry, upset, practical – they all deal with it in different ways, he thought. And Brennan, the practical one, the rational one, had been standing, stock still, unable to tear her eyes away from the spot where it had happened.

He'd known right then that she'd come to him.

He shuffles over to where she sits and reaches out, still a bit hesitant. But she turns to him without resistance and he can see the raw emotions on her face.

He doesn't know what to do. How can he comfort her, when he's unable to console even himself? How can he tell her it's going to be alright, how can he tell her _anything_ useful when he doesn't know a damn thing himself?

"I've seen death so many times, I – I've seen mass graves and slaughter and brutal homicide and I didn't even blink, but – Booth…"

She looks at him, really looks at him, and he feels like something passes between them. He leans forward at the same time she does and they hug, slowly, comfortingly. There's nothing sexual about it, nothing like he'd dreamt of touching her; a hug between two friends who've lost their way.

"He was gone so fast, Booth." Her voice is muffled against his shirt. "He was-" she swallows, "-dead so fast. Only a moment…"

She's still pressed against him and he wonders if the reason for it is that she is reassuring herself that he's still alive. Is she having flashbacks to when she thought he was dead?

He still hasn't said a word besides inviting her in, but she doesn't seem to notice or mind.

"Life is so short, Booth." The whispered words are almost too soft to hear, but he catches them. His heart speeds up a little despite the circumstances. _Does she mean…?_

"Tomorrow it can be … Angela, or Hodgins, or – or you…" He holds her a little tighter.

"I'm not going anywhere, Bones," he whispers in her hair. "I'm right here."

He feels tears soak into his shirt but he doesn't actually hear her cry.

"You always say that," she says him, a hint of frustration mixed with the sadness. "But you can't – how can you – it's not – it's not certain. You… you can promise all those things but it'll never be certain." Are they still talking about death? He's not sure, but maybe it doesn't matter. Maybe, in a way, both are the same.

He holds her a while longer, his silence an unspoken agreement with her words. Once or twice, he feels a sob in her body, but he doesn't say anything about it and she doesn't let him know, either.

Finally, he pulls back. He grabs her hand and stands up, giving her a tug. "Come," he says, his voice a bit gruff.

She follows him, but stops when she sees the destination. "Booth…" he can see the uncertainty in her eyes and curses himself for not thinking of it before.

"No, I want to show you something," he explains and after that, she follows him.

He sits down on the edge of the bed and she sits down next to him, and despite the room and its implications, there's no awkwardness.

He reaches for the photograph on the nightstand and holds it in front of her.

"Remember this?"

It was a photograph of them. He doesn't think she knows it was taken, but in the way she reacts he knows she's recognized it nonetheless.  
>The photo had been taken after a case. It hadn't been a particularly grueling case or even a very long one; he can't even remember the specifics anymore. They'd gone out afterwards, the entire team. He remembers now that it had been a while after his surgery, when they had been afraid that he would be permanently affected, but at the particular moment, they hadn't cared much.<br>He'd said something (or she, he couldn't remember), and they'd looked at each other. The other squints were in the frame too, but only marginally, and it was mostly the two of them. Their heads were turned towards one another and there was such intimacy in their postures, their gaze, their smiles, that even a blind man could have seen the love.

Does Bones see it now? She's tracing the faces on the photo with a finger that is shaking slightly, and he gently takes the photo out of her hands.

"You're right, you know. I can't promise you forever and I can't say I'll always be there." He pulls her towards him and she leans against him, the trusting gesture constricting his heart.

"But this moment, Bones, the one in the photograph – we've had that moment. Here's proof that we've had that moment. And that's never going to go away." He doesn't quite have the words to tell her what he means, exactly, but as she wipes at her eyes with her free hand he thinks that maybe, she understands anyway.

"No matter what happens, we've shared the past together." He pauses. "We're sharing this moment. And we'll share the future for as long as we can." He can't be any more clear than that, but then again he doesn't need to be.

They sit like that for a long time, her elegant frame against his, on the edge of his bed. After a while, he realizes she's crying more heavily now, no doubt reliving the events of the past, and he strokes her hair and touches her head and before he knows it, they're lying on the bed together. She's on top of him and in any other situation, any other time, he'd be thrilled and no doubt turned on, but at this point, he just continues to stroke her hair. She's so small against him. She's crying against his shoulder, her hands balled up besides her, and he wishes more than anything he could take the pain away, that he could somehow turn _this_ moment into one they'd want to remember.

He knows he can't. He knows pain is a necessary part of life. But he wishes that now, it wouldn't have to be.

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><p><strong><em>Opinions, anyone? I'd love to hear what you think. Who do you think will be Broadsky's victim? I read somewhere that there's a spoiler floating around that it's Nigel-Murray, which is why I chose him; don't have any theories myself (and I was a bit too caught up in the Booth-Brennan part of it all ;-) to make up one). <em>**

_**And also, of course: what did you think of my one-shot? Don't be shy, please review!**_


	2. Chapter 2

**_Thanks for the reviews, guys! I was really happy when I read them. Really, really happy. It makes the pain of waiting for next Thursday (how dramatic!), or Friday in my case, a bit less painful.  
><em>**

**_Now, as for this chapter..._**

**_This may just be writer's insecurity speaking, but I feel like it doesn't quite 'flow', not like the first chapter. However, I'll let you guys be the judge... Enjoy, anyway!_**

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><p>When he wakes up, it is light outside and Brennan is still lying on his chest. It takes him less than a second to remember everything, and once he does he wishes he didn't. He wants to be able to enjoy this moment just a bit longer.<p>

So he lies on his bed with her in his arms, even though his back is starting to hurt from being in the same position for too long. It doesn't matter, because at least she's still asleep, and he'll endure a storm if it means she gets to forget a little longer.

Eventually, though, she does wake up, and as she disentangles herself from him there is no awkwardness. Instead, he feels… calm, and one look at her tells him that either she's too sleepy to care, or she feels just like him.

The devastating sadness of the night before has passed, and it has left grief in its wake, but the grief feels deeper. More like a dull pain than a sharp, aching one.

They lie on his bed together, neither of them feeling the urge to get up. The numbers on his alarm clock tell him it's a little past nine in the morning; far later than he usually gets up, but then again, nothing is usual about this day.

"How're you feeling, Bones?" He hates the question, hates how he sounds like a shrink, but he needs to ask it.

She turns to him, one arm propped under her head. Any moment now, he expects her to panic and leave the bed, but she stays right where she is. Over her shoulder, the glint of the photo frame catches his eye. The frame with their picture in it.

"I don't know," she says quietly. He knows she's telling the truth from the look in her eyes. "It's - he was gone so fast, Booth. I just can't believe –" Something clouds her eyes and though he knows it's not the emotions of last night, he still looks at her a little worriedly.

"I know," he says equally quietly. "Life can be so short…" It's a thought that had kept him up many nights, pondering his own mortality. It had taken him a long time to accept that his life, just as any other, could be over in the blink of an eye.

He looks at Brennan in front of him, so close he can practically count the tiny freckles on her nose. She's close enough for him to touch her, to kiss her.

She's so beautiful, he thinks as he takes her in. Her eyes are still a bit red and her mascara is smudged, but she is still breathtakingly beautiful. He could die a happy man if his last view would be of her.

He reaches out tenderly to brush a lock of hair from her face and she makes a startled movement. The yearning to touch her suddenly overwhelms him, and he cannot help but move closer to her, hold her against his chest – she freezes for the tiniest of moments before she relaxes in his arms and slowly, slowly, they lie down again.

Her face is on his chest again and it's such a glorious feeling, to hold her like this, that all dark thoughts are banished to the background for a while. He just feels her body against his, feels her curves and the deep intakes of breath and is strangely at peace with their positions.

"Booth?" Her voice is small and muffled by his shirt, but he can still hear the hesitation. "Is it strange that we're lying like this?"

He knew the question would come, eventually, but he doesn't want to go into it now; doesn't want to delve deep into his feelings and their relationship. He just wants to hold her, to feel her and to forget.

"It's alright," he breathes into her hair. "We're okay, Bones."

She doesn't reply to that and after a while, her slow, deep breaths tell her she's fallen asleep again.

He can't fall asleep again, can't close his eyes, fearing to miss even one moment. He is reminded of Aerosmith's famous song: _Don't wanna close my eyes, don't wanna fall asleep because I'd miss you baby…_ and almost snorts at the cliché. But it's the truth.

He couldn't bear to miss even one moment of her.

She wakes up again around half past ten and then, finally, they do get out of bed. He makes them both a coffee almost mechanically, the movements calming his suddenly worried mind. Now, in the broad daylight, away from his bedroom, he wonders what she thinks of this night. How does she view her breaking down? How does she feel about spending the night in her partner's arms?

"I don't think I'll go to the Jeffersonian today," she tells him as he hands her a mug of coffee. "I don't think – I don't think anyone's going to be there."

He nods, holding his mug with both hands. "I'm not going in, either." The lack of phone calls tells him that the FBI has most likely granted him a day off, anyway; he's not going to work when he doesn't have to. Not now.

"Maybe we can spend the day together," she suggests hesitantly, and he's so surprised he almost drops the mug. They've spent several days before outside of work, but he doesn't think _she_'s ever been the one who made the suggestion.

It would be nice, though. Very nice. He's not quite ready to let go of the Brennan he's had in his arms yet.

"Sure," he agrees casually. "What do you wanna do?" On some level, he is aware that it is not the right question to ask, not when one of her interns has died just the day before; but, if he's read her well, he knows she just wants to forget the event for now. Knows that she wants to forget the face in front of her, a face that had probably visited her in her dreams as well.

"I don't know," she shrugs. "What do you usually do on a day off?"

_Think about you._ He bites back the reflective response.

"Well, you know, sometimes I have Parker, so I spend the day with him… or do the laundry or something… Or go to you," he says with an impish grin. She grins back.

Suddenly, he claps in his hands. "I've got it," he says, a little louder in his enthusiasm than necessary. "We're going to the movies, Bones," he tells her. Her face remains neutral, but his own heart certainly speeds up at the thought of being with her in a dark movie theatre. _Not the time_, he reminds himself, but the images play through his head anyway – hey, he's a man, isn't he?

They finally settle on 'Water for Elephants' and he insists on buying popcorn, because he wants her to have the full movie-experience – sticky popcorn and all.

During the movie, he doesn't really take in the story despite his best intentions, and one quick look at his side tells him she isn't, either. She's looking at the screen, sure, but her eyes are distant.

She's just as surprised as he is when the movie is over and they sit in silence for a while as the crowd slowly files out.

"C'mon," he finally says, offering her his hand to pull her upright, "let's find someplace to eat." He's always hungry after going to the movies, and this time is no different.

She follows him without a word, and soon they find themselves in a small diner. He watches as she twirls the straw in her drink (organic orange juice, of course) and he hates the darkness that has came back over her, over them.

He doesn't want to tell her it's going to be alright again; he doesn't want to give her one of those empty promises. So instead he puts his hand over hers on the table and when she looks up at him, he knows she understands.

They leave the diner soon after that and head back to his apartment, because her stuff is still there and because they –or he, at least– aren't quite ready to say goodbye yet. She doesn't seem to be either, judging by the way she lingers in his apartment after she's collected her stuff.

Now, for the first time, there's a tinge of awkwardness. Neither of them is ready to be alone yet, but they can't find a reason to stay together, either. He searches his mind for something to say. He wants to give her some profound advice, telling her how to deal with her intern's death and maybe with the change between them as well, but his mind is coming up empty.

"Booth?" Her voice interrupts his thought. She's leaning against the couch and he is standing a bit away from her, but the tone in her voice propels him to move closer.

"I'm becoming stronger every day."

He freezes in his movements, knowing exactly what she is talking about, and suddenly their eyes lock and he can't tear his face away, not even if he wants to.

They look at each other and he's sure they're both thinking the same thing. _She could stay here_.

Eventually, though, she is the one who walks towards the door. She steps outside with a soft 'bye' and he is left to stare at the door.

_She becomes stronger every day._

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><p><em><strong>Alright, so what's your opinion? Please tell me!<strong>_

_**By the way, this is my 100th story here! How awesomely fitting... :)**  
><em>


	3. Chapter 3

**_Thanks again for the reviews! I received some comments on the language of the previous chapter, so I went back and changed bits and pieces. Nothing major has changed, but I think the chapter is better now :) (so thank you, janessab!)_**

**_This is the final chapter of my little story, because I feel it's the perfect ending. I hope you feel so, too. Enjoy!_**

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><p><strong><strong>She walks into the Jeffersonian the next morning, not knowing what lies ahead of her. There are no new cases or she would have been called.

It's unusually silent on the platform. It is completely empty – not even an intern, a sight which she has grown used to. She doesn't hear Cam's demanding voice, Hodgins' lower one, or Angela's laughter, and she is startled at how much it unnerves her.

She's not sure if she even _wants_ to see any of them, so instead of searching for them, she disappears into the basement. She's comfortable in this room where thousands of bones, hundreds of people are stored. There are no people breathing down her neck here. It's only her and the dead, and they can't talk to her. _She's_ the one giving them their identity, not the other way round.

She's immersed in a Civil War victim when she hears the doors open. She looks up, startled and a little annoyed at losing her focus.

It's Angela. She ascends the stairs one step at a time, slower than she used to. Brennan's eyes rest on the bulge of Angela's stomach. She hadn't been paying much attention lately, but Angela must be mere weeks away from giving birth. Had time moved so fast?

"Hey, sweetie." In the silence of the room, even Angela's soft voice carries.

"Hey." She keeps her answer short, bending over the femur again. There had been a nick on the bone that she wants to examine.

"How're you doing?"

It's impossible to ignore Angela's warm, worried questions. She lays down the bone and straightens up.

"I'm fine." It's an automatic response, but as she remembers the way she felt right after it happened, she suspects Angela won't believe her. "I'm… better."

Angela nods. "The funeral is in two days," she informs her.

"Are _you_ alright?" She eyes Angela with a little trepidation, unsure of the conversation that's to come.

"It's so strange, you know." Angela's eyes lose their focus as she stares at the boxes of bones. "One minute he was there, playing dinosaur, and the next…"

Brennan nods; she knows all too well what Angela means.

"Cam told me you took the day off yesterday," Angela changes the subject, and Brennan barely holds in a sigh, knowing what will follow. A part of her is dying to talk, about Vincent, about Booth, but a larger part of her tells her she should keep this to herself – Booth, in particular.

"I did," she replies evenly.

"She called Booth a few times and he didn't pick up." She nods brusquely. That must have been while they were in the cinema, when their cell phones had been turned off; she couldn't remember hearing Booth's phone through the rest of the day.

"Did you spend the day together?" There's no accusation in Angela's voice, just curiosity, but it's more than Brennan can bear. She wants to tell Angela, to hear her friend's thoughts; at the same time, she wants time to process it herself before she tells anybody else.

She's not even sure why the last two days feel so monumental with regards to Booth. They'd comforted each other, as they had done before. They'd spent a day together, which was not what they did usually, but it hadn't felt unusual – quite the opposite. She'd felt at home with Booth, talking with him, eating with him. She realized now that she had not once felt the urge to hide herself, to retreat into herself. There had been moments when the her intern's death had threatened to overwhelm her, but Booth had been there the entire time and, knowingly or not, had helped her through the moments.

So why does she feel so conflicted? Is it guilt because she spent a day relaxing, having fun, while a man had died only the day before? They had talked about it, albeit briefly – all that could be said, really, had been said the night before. She had felt the weight of his death – but it had been lifted by Booth.

Or maybe Booth himself was the reason. Maybe the reason for her uneasiness about the day before is that she'd spent over a day with Booth, alone with him, even sleeping with him (albeit platonically), and that she had _not_ felt the urge to flee. That she'd felt safe around him, even though just the day before a sniper had taken out one of her interns.

She realizes too late that she hasn't answered Angela's question, and when she focuses again Angela is looking at her worried, and she sounds upset when she asks her: "What exactly happened?"

She cannot answer. How can she, when she's not even sure herself? She stumbles a bit, trying to find an answer, to explain – but what exactly _had_ happened? She'd spent the night in Booth's arms, and that had caused a change between the two of them – she'd felt it the next morning, and he had, too. During the day, they had fallen back into their regular pattern, but she had been keenly aware of a change that morning. And she had told him what she has been realizing for a while now – that she is growing stronger. She feels that the moment of their union is coming closer. And although she still can't quite name why, she knows that last night had been a step in the right direction.

Angela's look of confusion slowly morphs into disbelief, then happy surprise. There's no more words, but Brennan feels herself smile, too, and she looks away, suddenly feeling girlishly embarrassed. It's so… unlike her.

Because she's looking down, she doesn't anticipate feeling Angela's arms around her. The hug is impaired by Angela's impressive bulge, but the artist presses her close to her and Brennan hugs her back, surprised, happy – and above all, amazed.

Amazed at the happiness inside her, at such a painful time.

"I know it's not the right time to be happy about this, sweetie," her friend says, and Brennan is surprised to hear the beginnings of tears in her voice- "but I'm really, really happy for you, Bren."

"I'm happy, too," she replies, a little stiffly, not knowing how to deal with this.

"You do realize that you'll have to tell me everything, don't you?" Angela tells her as she pulls back. "I mean, _every_thing."

"I-" how can she tell Angela that it doesn't feel right, yet, to share the details, even with her best friend?

"Not now," Angela amends as she sees the look on her face. "I know you haven't got it all figured out yet and that's fine, because it takes a while." Then her face splits into a grin again. "But I'm so, so happy for you, Bren."

_Happiness_, Brennan thinks, a little dazed at Angela's enthusiasm. Is that the destination of the journey she has started yesterday?

She's never allowed herself to dwell much on that word and its meaning, but now, she slowly starts to realize something.

If she could be happy with anybody, it would be Booth.

And she also realizes that, on some level, she has always anticipated to find it with him.

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><p><strong><em>I just LOVE those few seconds in the promo, the moment between Angela and Brennan. Knowing HH, it might not even have anything to do with what was shown in the rest of the promo, but for the purpose of my story, it does. :)<em>**

**_Also, the grammar in this piece might be inconsistent at times. I'm used to writing in the past tense and grammar has never been my strong suit. English is not my native language and the way I learnt it at school, there was very little focus on grammar, so I'm mostly writing on feeling here..._**

**_Anyway, enough excuses! Tell me what you think. :-)  
><em>**


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